La Belle Mariée Jeanne
by the corrupted quiet one
Summary: THIS IS A JEANNE D'ARC STORY Jeanne D'Arc x France. There are some French words too, but it's English mostly. Read and review please
1. Prologue

_All she did came down to that day..._

_Everything she helped me earn..._

_And then, by one mistake..._

_She was taken away...._

_Forever._

~Francis Bonnefoy

May 30th, 1431


	2. Before She Left

"Jeanne," Francis said as the female warrior mounted upon her crème white steed. His sapphire eyes were shining in the spring sun, looking at the woman he loved so much, his precious Jeanne D'Arc.

The teenage once-peasant-now-soldier girl pause, her foot looped already in the stirrup of her chocolate brown saddle. She turned her head to look back, Francis' view of her short, wheat blonde hair on the back of her head changed to a look at the side of his love's face, her youthful sky blue eyes meeting the other Frenchman's gaze happily, her feminine lips which would shout orders in battle curved into a warm smile.

"Oui?" Jeanne said sweetly, her face looking like that of a typical French peasant belle, though she was dressed for the coming crusade, in which she was to lead. Shimmering silver armour covered her entire body, the flowing peach coloured dress around her waist gently blowing in the soft cool breeze. Her blade, her wondrous sword, was tucked nicely in its scabbard. She had appeared to have the body of a soldier besides the feminizing skirt, and then the head of a fragile, delicate lady; which of course, she was not, for she was a fighter.

Francis stood in silence a minute, looking her over, taking in her beauty. _All that she's done for me..._ Francis thought as small smile peeking up from his thin lips. This girl had come to him, claiming to see visions, visions that God had sent her, visions telling her to go into battle for her beloved country—for Francis.

"Mon amour," Jeanne said, watching Francis stare at her when she could be leaving already. She was leaving to go and combat the Brit who'd been causing her love so much trouble, "What is it?"

Francis slowly walked over to his mid-mounted mistress, a look of love in his eyes. He was dressed as the nobleman he was, an elegant blue and red jacket on over his white _chemise_, a large puffy handkerchief tucked into his collar. His golden hair was pulled back into a ponytail, the long locks unable to shield his handsome face from his belle. He held up a white gloved hand and gently brushed the French girl's cheek.

"Are you sure you'll be all right, mon cheré?" Francis whispered softly to her, watching her pale cheeks blush a carnation pink, "I know it's rough in battle..."

"Francis," Jeanne sighed, taking one hand off the reins to hold the man's caressing hand, "You know I've been in plenty of battles before--"

"But, Jeanne," Francis cut her off, "You slept restlessly last night. Tossing and turning, like something was wrong... _Very wrong."_

Jeanne said nothing at first, her eyelids closing a bit, her lashes shielding her clear blue eyes. She didn't want to admit that she herself wasn't so sure about this battle. She just felt as though... this may be her last...

"Je ne sais pas..." Jeanne's voice was soft like the hush whisper of the breeze, "Francis…It's nothing…"

"Non," Francis tilted the girl's head up so her could look into her eyes, "Mon amour, it cannot be nothing. Was it another vision?"

Jeanne hesitated a moment, not sure what to say, "_Je ne sais pas! __Je ne sais pas!" _she said over and over to her love, "It could be nothing, really."

"Jeanne," Francis said in a serious tone, as though he was giving orders to her instead of her giving orders to her men, "What did you see? Tell me."

The girl looked off to the side, the glow in her eyes dimming. The breeze blew a bit of her blonde bangs in front of her face. Without her even realizing, a warm tear escaped the corner of one eye.

"It was... I don't..." She didn't want to tell what she saw; she herself wasn't even entirely sure, "A... fire... Un feu."

The Frenchman nodded slowly, "Go on..."

"Et..." Jeanne blinked, feeling a few more tears escape her eyes, "_Je ne sais pas! __Mais, ce n'est pas vrai! C'est impossible! Je ne sais pas!"_

Francis looked at Jeanne, her warm tears hitting her finger tips, the warmth seeping through his gloves. Gently, he planted a small kiss on the tearful soldier's lips.

"Hush, cheré, hush..." Francis whispered to her, his lips close enough to touch hers still as he spoke, his nose taking in the vanilla scent of the flower he treasured, "You shall not fail me... You never have, nor will you ever."

Jeanne's eyes gazed into Francis', still a bit watery, but she was still strong inside, for nothing would let her fail her love. "Francis..." she said, giving her love, the one whom she fought for, a kiss back, "I never will fail you. All of these doubts... they are nothing. Now please, let me go and this. We can't let that Arthur gain anymore ground on the homeland."

Her eagerness to combat made Francis chuckle a bit. _Oh, Jeanne... You are like no other..._

"Oui," Francis nodded, brushing her bangs away and wiping off a bit of the tears she'd wept before stepping back.

Jeanne mounted the horse and grasped the reins.

"I'll be back, mon amour," Jeanne said before whipping the reins, prompting her horse to begin a trot to meet her troops, "_Je promets_!"

Francis smiled at her as she rode off on her horse, looking beautiful as ever riding through the field until she was out of sight.

"_Je crois à toi, Jeanne... Je crois..._" Francis said, even though her horse had disappeared already into the distance.

But, why did he have that feeling—that one looming feeling—that he may never see her again? That something bad was to happen? Why did it feel like his Jeanne was riding into battle for the last time?

_**To be continued...**_


	3. J'ai Capturé

_It was just a reckless little scuffle... I never meant to loose...._

~Jeanne D'Arc

May 23rd, 1430

"_NON!" _Jeanne cried as the gates to Compiègne were seen shut. She had ordered her troop's retreat and honourable rode at the behind her troops as opposed to the front. She felt as though her leading a retreat was a waste, for if she were closer to the offensive forces, it would serve her better and her men could escape.

The last line of her troops, along with Jeanne herself, we stranded outside the city; no way in for them and the Brits hot on their trail.

"There's no way in!" one of her men cried.

"We're trapped!"

"And the Burundians are right behind us!"

"_Let us in!" _Jeanne yelled, hearing the sound of running horses and riled up soldiers behind them.

The girl turned her horse around, only for her to see the enemy troops charging at them, their numbers outmatching hers by far, all of them ready to surround her.

"Non...." she said softly as they charged, gripping the handle of her sword. She felt as though she knew this would happen. In that vision...

_I should've listened to Francis...._ Jeanne thought at first, then she shook her head, _NON! This is for him; I do this to keep him safe. I made a promise..._

"Get ready men!" Jeanne shouted, her strong even voice shouting to her confused soldiers. She grabbed the golden handle of her sword and pulled it out of its scabbard. She then watched the incoming enemy rush in.

An influx of the Burundians came charging in, their weapons at the ready, and their numbers overwhelming.

Jeanne rode forward, first to lead, headed for the group of men. "POUR MON PAYS!" she screamed.

Then, a man, one of the enemy archers, grabbed Jeanne's doublet and yanked her off her horse, his strong force easily flinging the French girl onto the ground.

"AH!" Jeanne cried as her head slammed against the wet muddy ground. Her energy was dying.... She was so weak from the fighting before...

The enemy soldiers clustered around her men, attacking them as well, as another ground of higher officials came around the fallen heroine.

"So," called an unpleasantly familiar voice from behind the screen of burly Burundians, "_This_ is that twat's famed peasant hero."

"ARTHUR!" Jeanne hissed at the sound of the Briton's smug voice. She gripped her sword, but couldn't pick up her arms; she didn't have the strength to after that blow.

A few of the soldiers backed up, and then cleared a place for the blond British man to enter the circle.

"Yes," Arthur said, his emerald eyes staring down at the fallen girl, "I've got you now you fucking witch."

Jeanne sneered at the sight of her enemy, the one who she despised; the one she wanted to go away forever. His bushy caterpillar eyebrows made her want to vomit. His messy honey blond hair made her want to gag. His green eyes made her want to attack him. He was, after all, the cause off her having to fight in the first place.

"You sicken me," Jeanne said, staring at the armoured man in a combination of anger and disgust, "_ENFOIRÈ!"_

Arthur laughed at Jeanne's vulgar venomous jeers.

"Quit you fucking git," Arthur said, glaring at Jeanne, walking forward to grab the sword from her hands, "Surrender, you've lost."

_Surrender... _The very thought made her skin crawl.

"NEVER!" Jeanne yelled, her eyes burning like a blue fire, "I'd never surrender to you! _NEVER!"_

Arthur frowned, grabbing the sword by the silver blade. "Damn woman doesn't know when it's time to give it up. You should've never left that piece of shit of a farm you lived on." Arthur started to pull the sword out of the French girl's hands.

"Non, Arthur!" Jeanne still tightly kept her grip on the handle of her sword, her arm just being pulled up with the sword but otherwise completely useless, "_You_ should've never messed with France! We will never surrender! NEVER!"

Arthur kicked her stomach at the same time he yanked the blade from her.

"Oof..." she cringed, her prone figure curling a bit into a ball with pain. As if she already didn't suffer a bit in battle.

"Be fucking quiet!" Arthur hissed, tossing Jeanne's sword aside and pulling out his own, "I don't want to hear another word unless it's 'I surrender' from you. Do you hear me, girl? You piece of shit."

Jeanne bared her teeth, a few anger tears rolling down her cheeks, "GO TO HELL ARTHUR! I'LL NEVER GIVE UP! I'D NEVER BREAK MY PROMISE TO FRANCIS!"

The Brit chuckled, "Your promise to Francis? That git? You're a stupid, stupid little girl," Arthur spat on her, his spiteful spit splatting on her cheek, the sensation making her skin crawl even more.

"You're the stupide one!" Jeanne shouted, turning her head to glower at Arthur, her heart burning with rage, "_Mon pays est fort! Tu as trop stupide_!"

Arthur grabbed the girl by the collar and yanked her from the ground, mud dripping from her golden hair. He held her up to make her look him straight in the eye.

"You fucking bitch!" Arthur yelled at her, "You and your damn visions. God doesn't talk to you, you twat! Only a fucking moron would believe that! Look at you, dressed as a man trying to fight. Women stay and wash; the men go out and fight. Truly if Francis had any pride he wouldn't send a bitch to fight his battles. I guess if that git's only good leader is a fucking woman, then he really is as weak as I thought. Correction, _weaker."_

Jeanne spat in Arthur's face, her built up fury coursing through her veins, having to come out somehow even if she couldn't beat him like she wanted to. Her spit ball hit the infuriated Arthur in the eye.

His eye twitched, and then he tossed Jeanne onto the ground. "Fucking bitch doesn't know any manners. Then again, she _is _French."

Jeanne's body slammed hard back onto the mud, knocking more of her energy out of her.

She didn't want to do this....

She didn't want to give in...

But in this situation....

All hopes of her escaping were crushed...

Arthur began to turn and walk away when he heard Jeanne's soft voice behind him.

"J.....J'abandonne....." Jeanne said, the words tasting like poison on her tongue, "Tu.....Tu as gagné..."

Arthur's muddy ebony boots halted, turning his head to look behind him at the peasant girl.

A devilish smile curved on his face, "That's more like it. Men! Take this witch away. She'll be tried for heresy and witchcraft against the crown."

As Arthur walked off in long, proud strides, the gruff soldiers grabbed Jeanne by the arms and carried her away.

_J'ai...capturé..._

Meanwhile, in Francis' mansion, he awoke from his nap with a pain on the back of his head, the sensation surging through his body, making him feel like someone had thrown him to the ground.

"GAH!" Francis' eyes shot open, still lying down on the sofa he'd been slumbering upon.

"Maître," a brunette maid passing her master's room poked her head through the door, "Is something wrong?"

Francis looked at the maid, the pain still in his back and head, his eyes strained from the pain.

"Madeline...." Francis said, his voice quivering, "Something....happened."

"Oh?" The maid's brown eyes glittered with interest and curiosity. She was still a young girl after all, half of Jeanne's age.

"Oui...." Francis nodded slowly. Suddenly, he felt a pain that pierced his heart. He gripped his chest, moaning a bit from the sting.

"Francis!" The maid Madeline rushed over to her master's side, holding his hand with hers above his heart, "What is happening?"

"Je....." Francis panted, "Je ne sais pas..."

That was when it hit him.

"_JEANNE!"_

_**To be continued...**_


	4. Burned

_I burned the bloody witch,_

_She was to be a threat no longer,_

_I'd burned her over and over until I knew she was dead._

~Arthur Kirkland

May 30th, 1431

Jeanne was tied tightly to the wooden pillar, a tattered crème dress covering her body.

_Guilty.... That was what he said..... He said that I am guilty...._

Jeanne lost her trail, being charged with heresy, and thus sentenced to death. She'd had to wear woman's clothes in prison, which only got her raped. Stuck in a cell, body defiled, her dignity stripped from her like the clothes she'd been wearing. She then had nothing to wear, so she had to dress again as a man.

For her execution, however, they wanted her dressed as a woman. She was to be an example for everyone, but it was even more atrocious for it to have been a woman who'd done all Jeanne had done.

"Jeanne D'Arc," Arthur called to the girl bound to the wood pillar, as some soldiers patted more and more kindling underneath her, to ensure that she would burn in an enormous display, "Are you prepared to die?"

The girl's light blue eyes glared at Arthur, him being the cause of her downfall. He was the one who defeated her, he was the one who called her guilty, and he was the one to now light the match to burn her.

"I demand a crucifix!" Jeanne yelled, her voice still strong even in the face of death, "Hold a crucifix before me!"

_A ridiculous request from a witch, _Arthur thought, but still, he said, "You! Peter!" Arthur looked at a small boy playing with some rope and spare pieces of kindling, "Make this damned woman a crucifix!"

The little blond haired boy playing with the wood looked up at Arthur, "Hoi, you could ask a bit nicer."

Arthur glared at the insubordination in Peter's blue eyes. "I SAID MAKE HER A FUCKING CRUCIFIX YOU BLOODY TWAT!" Arthur raged, furious fire burning in his eyes the same way he wanted the fire to burn up Jeanne.

With a whimper, the little peasant boy Peter tied two pieces of wood into a cross with a rope tied around that as a necklace and held it out to Arthur with a shaky hand.

The Brit snatched the handmade cross from the boy without a word and marched over to Jeanne, climbing up on the platform where her pillar was perched. The way the French girl was tied, she had her arms behind her and her legs tightly tied so she could do nothing to escape. Arthur slid the crucifix necklace over Jeanne's neck and let the crudely constructed cross lay upon her breasts.

"There, bitch," Arthur said, rolling his eyes, "Your bloody cross. Would that be all?"

Jeanne looked at the cross around her neck then back at the British man. "Je veux pour toi ne faire jamais du mal à Francis. Promettez-vous?"

Arthur knew what she meant, even with her words in French. She wanted her to never again hurt Francis; his sworn rival as well as her true love.

_But with her dead, it's not like she can do anything about it, _Arthur thought, _besides, it's not like I'm going to die and go to hell. No one can kill Arthur Kirkland. And because this bitch tried, she'll be everyone's fucking example._

"Fine," Arthur said, making a promise that he would immediately break, "I promise, Jeanne D'Arc, that I shalln't hurt your Francis," then under his breath, still continuing the promising vow, "as long as you are around." _And that won't be for much longer._

Jeanne smiled a bit, feeling some inner victory from all this, "Bien," she said, "Et, dit lui 'Je t'aime'."

Arthur sighed, annoyed at her demands. "Sure, sure, I'll send that git the message from you." Arthur leaped down from the platform to the ground. He walked over to the executor who held a lit torch, the sight of the flames making Arthur grin.

_It's time for her to BURN...._

At the same time as Jeanne was being readied for her execution, Francis had caught word of what was happening.

The Frenchman rushed to the Vieux-Marche in Rouen, wanting to make it in time to save his love.

_Jeanne.... Jeanne..... Jeanne.... _Francis thought as his russet horse galloped to the town.

That day, it seemed as though the trip was longer, the horse was slower, and the hourglass sands falling quicker. Swirling dark clouds circled above as an ominous warning of the treachery to come.

Francis breathed quickly, in a wreck letting this happen to Jeanne. He found out only now about her capture, her trail, and of course, her sentence.

He'd left as soon as the messenger informed him of where to go, skipping his morning shave and him only putting on a loose chemise and informal dark pants. His hair from time to time had to be brushed from his face, not tying it up that day because he didn't care. All that he cared about was Jeanne.

At last, he saw the town appear on the coming horizon.

_I can't be late.... _He thought between each pant, _I must save her.... I must save my saviour...._

He whipped the reins again, urging his horse, which was already pushing its limit, to run faster still. He had to make it.... He just _had _to....

"Allez! Allez!" Francis scolded the horse as he forced his steed to press onward. The horse was already exhausted, about ready to collapse right then. But Francis didn't seem to notice how hard he'd been pushing it, only thinking the animal was lazy.

"_PUTAIN DE MERDE!" _Francis yelled, deciding to forget about the horse. The blond leapt from his horse and just started running, his dark boots splashing in the mud as he raced along the path, his destination getting nearer and nearer.

He could smell smoke already; he only hoped he wasn't too late....

"Now, you bitch," Arthur said to Jeanne, standing next to her executor, the torch fire crackling and waiting for the kindling beneath the French girl to feed it, "As punishment for heresy and a bit of witchcraft, I, Arthur Kirkland, as well as the rest of the King's court, sentence you to be burnt to death for your crimes!"

Jeanne looked at the small flame, knowing that in a matter of moments it would engulf her body and devour her. She kept her head held high and said nothing, even with one, final, fearful tear escaping the corner of her eye and running down her cheek. In a situation like this, when one knows that they are about to be killed and can do nothing to stop it, it's impossible not to shed at least one tear.

"JEANNE!" Francis tore through the crowd, tumbling out of the tight-knit mob of spectators and tripping onto the ground, out of breath and a mess.

"Fra...Francis?" Jeanne looked at her love, her eyes now even more watery than before, realived that she'd at least see her Francis one last time before she passed.

"Jeanne...." Francis' eyes were filled with tears too, after so long being apart from his belle and going through so much stress and worry only to at last see her once more.

"Drop the damn torch now!" Arthur yelled at the executor, going so far as to loosen the man's grip _making _him drop the torch.

"Que?" Jeanne turned her head to see the falling torch. Her blue teary eyes widened in horror as the dancing flame struck the kindling.

"_NON! JEANNE!" _Francis yelled, reaching out for her from his position on the ground.

"_AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" _Jeanne let out a tearful cry as the fire quickly grew and swallowed her up to burn her...

_**To be continued....**_


	5. Je T'Aime Mon Ange

_In those flames, I saw her,_

_I saw her one last time,_

_She spoke to me,_

_I will never forget her words._

~Francis Bonnefoy

May 30th, 1431

Francis watched the reddish flames eat his love whilst he lay idly on the dirt.

_Jeanne.... Mon amour...._

The girl's piercing screams exploded from inside the fire, her shadowy silhouette tormented, her skin catching fire and melting off of her bones. Jeanne's blonde hair burnt, like the field of wheat caught fire and burned the year's crops. Her pale white skin turned from the white skin of a rose to a horrible burned brown like scorched English cooking before if completely peeled from her cooking muscles and charring bones. The tears on her face dried by force, her watery eyes roasting like marshmallows inside her skull. The dress was highly flammable, burning not only to her skin, but making it burn faster, so her vital organs became a living inferno until her fiery heart roasted to the point in which it could no longer beat.

Francis felt his tears drip down from his eyes, wishing he could water the fire with his loving tears and save his Jeanne. But no, that couldn't happen. He couldn't do that. That wasn't how it worked.

As the pillar crumbled within the fire, the crowd dissolved, until there was but Arthur, Francis, and the late Jeanne D'Arc in the fire.

"Look at your bloody saviour now!" Arthur yelled, watching the girl burn, "That's what you get for making a woman fight for you! You get _that!"_

Francis glared at Arthur, tears streaming down his face, "Shut the fuck up Arthur...." he said, trying to suppress the anger in his voice, "Just shut the damn fuck up."

Feeling a bit full of himself, his triumph getting to his head a bit, he walked right over to the grieving Frenchman.

"No, you git," Arthur said, "I _won't _shut my mouth just because some fuckhead like you tells me to. Francis, you are a stupid twat who is so weak that the best person he could rely on would be a poor little prison girl. You know, if you cared, we sent her piece of shit family the opportunity to pay a ransom for her. But, of course, they're worth shit themselves, so it was a lost cause. That bitch was at least lucky that she fucking died like the witch she was—"

Francis could take it no more, he sprung on Arthur, tackling him to the ground, his royal blue eyes burning with even larger flames than that of the fire that his love was burning in.

Arthur slid back on the dirt, Francis pushing him over with enough force to knock him back to the edge of the fire, some loose sparks flying over him and landing close to his head. Francis grabbed a piece of the kindling that lay near, holding it be the end that wasn't on fire.

"YOU KILLED HER!" Francis agonizingly shouted, holding the kindling like a torch, raising it above the Briton's head, "YOU KILLED THE ONLY WOMAN I EVER LOVED! YOU SHOULD DIE FOR THAT! YOU SHOULD BURN THE WAY SHE DID!" Tears were staining his shirt as he was just about ready to throw the kindling on Arthur's face, wanting to burn him to death.

Arthur's smug mood died, staring up at the fake torch with horror. _That git would do it... _he thought, seeing the pure fury in Francis' eyes, _He'd kill me if I did something like I just did... He's going to try and murder me now._

Inner panic struck Arthur, knowing now what could happen to him now. He could always just attack Francis; go back on his promise as he planned. But he......_couldn't. _Why was it that only now he felt that _gentleman _inside him stop him from going back on his word to Jeanne, betray the promise of a lady forced to death.

_Fine, Jeanne, _Arthur thought, shutting his eyes, _As much as I hate you fucking witch, I'll keep my damned word...._

Francis saw Arthur closing his eyes as a cowardly way of trying to deny what the fact was; the fact that Francis was about to kill him. He was just about ready to throw the torch in Arthur's face.....

"_Non, mon amour!" _Jeanne's voice called.

Hearing that soft, sweet voice; Francis froze. _Did she live?_

He looked up to where the flames were still burning, only to see Jeanne standing on air, floating above the dying fire, her pale skin restored and flawless, her sky blue eyes looking like the heavens, and her golden blonde hair neatly arranged. A wrap like dress that looked like it was made from soft white clouds covered her, a golden halo hovering above her head. Still, the crude crucifix necklace remained around her neck, the cross resting on the breast of her dress, looking slightly out of place; though at the same time in the exact place it was to be. An aura of bright light surrounded her form, emitting radiant beams of some type of godly splendour. She looked upon her love, her hands folded over her stomach, her eyes of heavens shining brightly like stars and her pale rose lips curved into a fragile smile.

"Non, Francis," Jeanne said, her voice like a sweet silver bell, "Do not kill him."

"But Jeanne..." Francis said to her.

_Jeanne? _Arthur heard that name and opened his eyes, wanting to make sure that the girl had not somehow escaped and had come to finish him off with her lover. He saw none of what Francis could see; no matter how many faeries or unicorns he was able to detect, this angelic apparition of Jeanne D'Arc was completely invisible to him as well as everyone else on the earth. Arthur chose not to talk still, seeing Francis in a trance and not seeming to want to end him.

"Francis..." Jeanne sighed, her pale cheeks turning a bit pink, "Non.... He promised me that he would not hurt you... At least not at the moment... Besides, it is not worth it...."

Francis stared at the angel of Jeanne, a bit shocked by her words. She hated Arthur as much as anyone; especially in her spirit form which she is only in because the Brit had burnt her alive.

"Jeanne... He killed you!" Francis shouted, "He should die too!"

Arthur gave a mental shudder. He didn't want to die. No... Not him... What would his people do without him? What would become of his country? What would they do without the nation himself?

Jeanne could see Arthur's inner sorrow, the fact that he was feeling regret for what he'd done; not that he would take it all back, but at least that he felt sorry.

"Mon cher.... Non," Jeanne shook her head, "He is not worth it. He may live with his penalty, but to kill him would do nothing. Francis, Mon amour, do not kill him, s'il vous plait, for killing him will spare him too much guilt..."

"But...." Francis was still so confused; this was just so...unreal...

"Désole," Jeanne sighed, looking up at the sky, "I have to leave now, Francis..."

"Leave? NON!" Francis yelled, "Don't leave me, Jeanne!"

"I'll always be with you, mon amour," Jeanne's soft voice whispered, her beautiful wings beginning to flutter and lift her higher into the air, "Je promets..."

Jeanne's angelic form rose higher and higher in the sky, Francis watching her as she flew up to the heavens, her golden hair becoming more like sunlight, and her eyes more like evening stars. She was an angel now, not just an angel on earth, giving her the freedom to soar high above, her fluffy feathered wings opening up and lifting her into the clouds, leaving the toil of the Earth for a more easing afterlife above.

Francis watched his angel leave him, her sparkling figure slowly fading until she disappeared into the clouds, the memory of her saintly figure forever engraved in his mind, making his last memory of her far more pleasant than that of her on in the fire.

"Get off of me!" Arthur said, pushing the Frenchman off him when Francis hadn't spoken for a long while, staring up at the path his angel took. Francis fell on the ground, not speaking, dropping the torch and letting it roll away from him, the flame still dancing, just staring at the clouds. Arthur did not see what the other man found so fascinating.

"Look, Jeanne D'Arc is dead," Arthur yelled, standing up and walking to the burnt pile of kindling, the fire finally out. He carefully manoeuvred though the scorched wood and kicked out the charred remains of the angel's human form, "Look Francis! Your damn bitch is dead! I knew she didn't escape alive."

Francis looked at Arthur, and shook his head. A few chuckles escaped his throat as he shook his head, Arthur not understanding what phenomena just occurred.

The Briton's bushy brows bunched together, an annoyed expression on his face. "What the bloody hell is so funny?! Your fucking Jeanne is _dead!_" Arthur, just to prove a point, snatched the torch off the ground and threw it on Jeanne's remains, setting them afire once more.

Francis' sapphire eyes examined the British man's expression, a few tears running down his cheeks again. He then looked at the small fire of the dead heroine's charred remains.

"Arthur, you enculé," Francis said, "You don't get it... You never did, and you never will." The Frenchman stood up from the ground, a tearful smile on his face, "Jeanne will never die. You may have burned her body, but she is more than that." He looked up again at the sky, seeing his angel's face up painted in the clouds, "Elle est mon ange. Mon ange gardien. Et, je suis amoureux de Jeanne pour toujours...."

Arthur scoffed, "_Well then," _He snarled, "I guess I'll leave you two fuckheads alone." In a huff, the Brit stormed off, satisfied that he left with his life, and with the French girl dead. That was all he really wanted, as far as he was concerned, he succeeded.

Francis gazed at the sky, seeing Jeanne in the clouds, his love for her still burning, for it would never extinguish as long as he lived.

"Ma Jeanne...." Francis whispered to the sky, "Je t'aime... Tu es ma sainte, mon héroïne, et mon amour..... Je t'aime... Je t'aime... _Je t'aime..."_

_**The End~**_


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